There is a block buried some where, That can only be explained, By trying to force the words to come, Yet fearing a clash worlds. When the audience increases, From old friends to friends of friends, Who hear the sounds of cloven feet, So look for a herd of zebra. Who would not know a clever turn, Bend or tweak of a phrase, If it leaped up and bit them, But could destroy their sincerity, With weak half hearted platitudes.

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